Divided Loyalties
by lipeviez
Summary: Sansa had warned Tyrion that his divided loyalties would be a problem for them, but what if she really meant they'd be a problem for him? And that she'd be the cause of it? Two-shot, post 8x03 AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Yet another fic inspired by those S8E3 Sansa/Tyrion scenes in the crypt. Not really a story, just a one-shot I've been imagining. Let's ignore S8E4, shall we? haha**

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Sansa Stark floated through Winterfell; her days spent tending to the injured, making sure repairs were proceeding quickly, and after the funeral pyres, desperately trying to maintain control of herself at court. As if having to suffer through Jon's deference to Daenerys and the Dragon Queen's desire to send Northerners south wasn't bad enough, she had another problem. Every time she felt his eyes on her, her heart raced and it was all she could do to maintain that icy veneer she thought she had perfected.

Today, Jon and Daenerys went to see to the dragons and there were no items on her agenda for the next couple of hours. She went to the Godswood to be alone. It was late afternoon and the sky already beginning to darken. Sansa could still see the signs of what had occurred here, and the thought of Theon dying alone pained her deeply. It would probably never leave her. She decided to try to use that pain to fortify her heart. So much was still at stake and thoughts of Tyrion Lannister threatened to sideline her focus on an independent North. Her mind wandered to an idea she had toyed with before Tyrion returned to Winterfell.

Before the battle with the dead, after Jon had been invited to Dragonstone, Sansa prepared Winterfell for winter and the coming onslaught, kept the other northern houses in line, contemplated how Jon would convince the Targaryen to give them the dragonglass and persuade her to help fight against the dead, and forged a new understanding with her younger sister Arya. Having finally dealt with Littlefinger's betrayal, she could turn her mind to other matters. In spite of all that had happened to her, she had found herself thinking about life and the future. Jon had told Sansa he would never ask her to marry to solidify an alliance for House Stark. While she appreciated his words, she knew they were foolish. The lords had accepted Jon as their king but trueborn heirs would strengthen their hold on Winterfell and the North. Arya wasn't likely to marry and Bran wasn't a possibility either. In order to help Jon keep Winterfell, she had to produce heirs. Submitting to another man was abhorrent to Sansa but if they could find someone respectable enough, she might be able to suffer through it. These thoughts filled her with anger and she longed for more control. In these moments she idly thought perhaps she could find someone kind to share her bed for a little while, something on her terms and not as the property of a husband; to share and not submit; to replace these nightmares of Ramsay with new memories of what was possible between two people. Waiting for a suitable marriage partner would take too long; they might all die before the winter was over. The Night King was coming.

Having entertained the possibility, she couldn't put it out of her mind and wondered who to choose. A low-born man was out of the question. Even if he would be able to keep it a secret, how could she be sure he wasn't acquiescing out of some form of duty or fear of reprisal? She would never want to exert her power and station over another in that way. Then again, the odds of finding a nearby nobleman who would agree to a dalliance, keep it secret, and never press for marriage, were extraordinarily small. Not to mention someone who would respect her above all and be able to stop if she changed her mind at any point, even at the moment of union… The possibility of being violated again prevented her from seriously pursuing her idea. But then Jon came back with Daenerys, her army, and him.

Tyrion Lannister had always been kind to her, had respected her when no one else had. Even on the side of a queen she couldn't yield to, Sansa held Tyrion in high esteem. He had been her husband after all. But it was more than that. Or it had become more than that. Of all the people who had used her after her father's death, he was the only one who tried to mitigate her circumstances. The only one not to ask for anything in return. She saw the man, a man she could trust to show her the ways of physical love and respect her boundaries. But she was too afraid and it wasn't the act itself that scared her.

In the crypt during the battle, when her hope was at its lowest, Tyrion had tried to distract her by broaching their marriage. He had intended it as a joke but she didn't want to respond with banter. Sansa owed him honesty. With her words, she tried to convey her respect and appreciation for him. Her response let him know that she, too, had wondered about remarrying him. But lest he take her sentiment too far, she warned him. She had to. Because thoughts of marriage with Tyrion had been mingling with less savory thoughts of using him in some way to gain advantage over Daenerys. Divided loyalties can be exploited.

It was these thoughts that had prevented her from reaching for him in a kiss when all seemed lost. She wanted to, more than anything, but she was also afraid of what she was capable of, of those lessons in deceit she had learned in King's Landing and under Littlefinger's tutelage. If Tyrion had reached for her, she would have given in, of course she would have. But he only brought her gloved hand to his lips. She felt her desire ignite in that moment, something she never thought she could feel for another. Then the moment passed.

Or so she thought.

His eyes in the crypt. His lips. They haunted her. She wanted them so badly. Sansa also recognized a similar longing in his face whenever she caught him staring at her. There was something between them now. Sansa stood silently in the Godswood playing out the moves in her mind. Her heart told her to be brave but the darkness within her dangled the possibilities of how to ensure the North's freedom. Could she hurt him like that? And could she put herself at risk? She'd already felt what his kiss on her hand did to her. Exploited loyalties go both ways, after all. He was clever and still the Dragon Queen's hand.

She heard his approach without turning around. Her pulse quickened but she maintained a steady breath, her gaze fixed ahead.

"If there's anything I've learned as the Queen's hand, it's that not everything can be anticipated, Sansa. You can overthink until the sun sets and then you'll have missed your chance to decide and events will unfold anyway, affecting you instead of you affecting them."

Sansa didn't answer. His use of subtext and caution was infuriating. Despite her misgivings she decided to throw away whatever advantage she may have had by being blunt about their situation.

"I don't want to hurt you, Tyrion."

Sansa heard his gasp and then his light chuckle. She let minutes go by as she let him absorb what she was trying to say.

"My lady, while I do appreciate your warning, it is very much unnecessary. I am quite aware of what you're capable of. Your warmth… and ruthlessness."

At this, Sansa turned slightly towards him and watched him move to stand beside her. She smiled lightly then again looked forward.

"It would be easier if you could just swear loyalty to her, Sansa."

"I know," answered Sansa. She added sadly, "I'm sorry."

"Me too. I wish… well, I think we both know what I wish." Tyrion reached for her hand and she let him hold it. Enjoying this moment together, the companionship of someone who understood her, Sansa squeezed his hand tightly. It would be easier to yield. So much easier to trust that Daenerys would be a good queen, that Jon would keep the North safe, that the dangers and responsibilities of the world were out of her hands. Then another thought came to her. Cersei could still gain the upper hand and take him away from her forever. Sansa gripped his hand even more tightly. Her breathing became harder to control.

"Will you hold me tonight, Tyrion?" she whispered. She turned to him.

"Sansa?" he replied, confused. She felt like laughing at the look on his face. There was fear and barely contained hunger. Bending over she placed her hands on his face and lightly pressed her lips on his.

"Tonight. My rooms," Sansa said more firmly. _One night_ _and then I'll do what needs to be done_.

Tyrion nodded, breathless. Sansa smiled and straightened herself, then walked away, leaving him to his thoughts, his turn to ponder the ramifications and vulnerabilities she might expose in him. Sansa promised herself she would warn him one more time, to make it clear that whatever happened between them will not compromise her loyalty to the North. _Saying it out loud will make it true_, Sansa tried to convince herself. She blushed at what other truths Tyrion might make her reveal out loud tonight. She looked forward to it.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Well, like so many of my initial one-shots, I end up thinking of how to continue.**

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The hours after their meeting in the Godswood flew quickly and Sansa was now alone in her bedchamber, waiting for Tyrion. Earlier in the Great Hall during the dinner meal, she'd avoided his glances, preferring to socialize with others, but when the time came for her to depart she made sure to catch his eye. He nodded ever so slightly and she allowed a small smile. She wore the same smile now, alternating between sitting on a chair at the small table in her room or standing. Nervous, she was tempted by the wine on her table, but in truth that would only make it worse. She wanted all her wits about her when it came to Tyrion Lannister. She wanted to remember everything about this night.

A short knock on her door and there was only time for a quick glance in the mirror to calm her breathing. She opened the door and there he stood, looking more nervous than she'd ever seen him.

"Come in," she said, opening the door wider to allow his entrance. Sansa closed the door and walked slowly to the foot of her bed. She felt Tyrion's eyes on her but he did not move. Taking a deep breath she turned around to face him.

"I would say that it's all right if you've changed your mind but I see that you haven't," Tyrion said softly.

"No, I haven't. Have you come to convince me to change my mind?" she asked, with a slight tilt of her head.

"Part of me does want to. The part of me that is very afraid of how this could…" he trailed off.

"Of how I could use this against you?" Sansa offered, her fingers moving to the ties of her dress, slowly undoing them. "Or of how you could use this against me?"

"Both," he answered, his breath hitching at the sight of her bare neck and then shoulder. "Wait, please."

Sansa had pulled the dress off her shoulders but halted her movements, respecting his request.

With a great sigh of resignation he smiled and said, "You are more confident about this than I thought you would be."

"Let's just say this wasn't an impulsive idea," she said with a smirk. Tyrion laughed at that and seemed flattered. But his brow furrowed again with worry.

"Tyrion, I know. I know who you serve. And tomorrow, yes, it will be our duty to think on tonight's events and on how to turn it into an advantage for our respective sides."

Sansa hardened and stared fiercely at him, a warning that she was no longer the girl he knew in King's Landing. Then she allowed her look to soften and walked towards Tyrion, kneeling before him, one arm holding up her dress, the other reaching a hand to cup his cheek.

"But tonight, let's pretend. You are my husband and I am your wife and I am asking you to honor the promise you made to me on our wedding night; to come to my bed now that I've asked."

"Is your love pretend, too?" Tyrion whispered, leaning into her hand, longing in his eyes.

For the first time Sansa felt the pang of guilt. With those few words, he revealed what was in his heart. It scared her and she was tempted to pull away before it went any further, before she could take advantage of his feelings. But the thought of being blanketed by his love, to know what it felt like to be worshipped instead of defiled, that need within convinced her to at least be honest about her own feelings so that he could make his own choice.

"I won't lie and make it sound more than it is. After everything I've experienced, I don't know if I can ever love anyone that way. But I do feel a trust between us. And that other word that rhymes with trust." Sansa smiled, and Tyrion let out a small laugh.

"I can't make promises. Just know that right now, I want this. I want you. Please. If you feel similarly, please give me this night."

Tyrion closed his eyes and put one hand over the one on his cheek. Fear gripped her heart that he was preparing himself to deny her. But then he placed his hands on her neck and leaned forward to kiss her.

In that kiss, Sansa felt all of the nervous energy she'd been suppressing turn to desire and she clasped him to her, her arms gripping him tightly, her lips hungrily tasting him. So lost in her want for him Sansa barely noticed that he'd pushed down her dress or that her own fingers had been working to undress him.

They pulled back for air and he pulled her to her feet, her dress and shift on the floor.

Tyrion said, "If I do anything tonight that you do not want, at any time..."

"I know."

Sansa smiled at him and walked to the bed, ignoring the gasp she heard when he surely saw her back. To his credit, he said nothing and when she turned around she watched him remove the last articles of clothing on his person.

"Will you do something for me, Tyrion?" Sansa asked as she got into bed.

"Anything," Tyrion answered, using the stool she left for him to climb in after her.

"Your words and voice will comfort me as much as your touch will. Name everything for me. Is that all right?" He nodded in answer and she felt her heart swell as he leaned forward to kiss her.

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Later, panting and laughing, Sansa stared up at the ceiling in astonishment, her mind remembering the previous hour's pleasures.

She turned on her side towards Tyrion and saw him in a similar state. She smiled and laid her head on his shoulder.

"I didn't know it could be like that," she said breathily.

"I didn't know it could be like that either," he answered. She raised her head with a questioning look. He looked at her and sighed happily.

"I know my reputation precedes me but contrary to all the talk, there are some things I've never done, like pleasure a highborn lady who's never…" he blushed, struggling for the words.

"I was no maid, Tyrion," she said, a bit too harshly, reminded of her history. She moved back to her side of the bed, staring up.

"That isn't what I meant," Tyrion said, turning on his side to look at her. "Look, I think we're past what would be considered a forward question… have you ever felt like that with a man before?"

"No," Sansa said softly.

"And that's what I mean, Sansa. To be the one to introduce those things to you, to feel your pleasure and know it was given freely and sincerely… you'll never know how much I shall treasure it."

Sansa could see that his ego had been sufficiently puffed up and she turned to face him. With one hand she began playing with the hairs on his chest, wondering if she could confess something.

"Tyrion…" she began, "It is true that no one else has ever pleasured me like that before. And I'm sure tonight you'll show me many things I've never even thought of…" He grinned salaciously and she could only chuckle at his glee.

"But I never said I've never felt that pleasure before." She pursed her lips in a smile as his confused eyes opened wide in understanding.

"Lady Sansa!" he exclaimed, in false shock. It made her happy to see that he was laughing it off, that his ego didn't take insult.

"It is my body, is it not?" she laughed. He responded with a kiss to her shoulder and her skin tingled at his touch. No further explanation was needed but Sansa wanted Tyrion to understand something before they continued.

"When I began my explorations, which admittedly are very recent, I didn't know if my body would be able to respond to those kinds of touches. The thought of being that vulnerable again, at the mercy of another man again, it disgusted me. I had learned to numb myself with Ramsay… but recently I began to wonder what it would be like? Could I feel what other women feel in the arms of another? To deny myself those pleasures seemed like something else he was taking from me…" Sansa's eyes burned but she refused to cry.

"You honor me, my lady," he said softly, his eyes glistening. She answered him by pulling him to her.

He pulled away suddenly and asked, "So you are saying that this night is an experiment for you?"

"Well… yes," Sansa replied, pushing him onto his back, and throwing her leg over his waist to straddle him. "But if it makes you feel any better, you were the only one I seriously considered."

She leaned down to kiss him softly and against his lips she whispered, "The only one I could imagine touching me and making me feel what I've been feeling ever since you returned to Winterfell."

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Before dawn, Sansa lay staring at Tyrion's sleeping face. They had made love and talked for hours before sleep claimed them. The conversation had been light at first but then it turned to their stories of what happened after they parted in King's Landing. She learned all he knew of Daenerys' story, and she had confessed the cruelties she suffered at Ramsay's hands, even sharing the more horrific details because he'd seen her scars; the questions in his eyes wouldn't let her be until she answered them. No matter what happened, she would never regret their night together. She hoped he would feel the same but given what she had planned, that was a small hope at best.

Tyrion opened his eyes and smiled at Sansa but when he noticed her seriousness, the smile fell.

Sansa kissed him quickly before he mistook her facial expression for regret.

"Thank you, Tyrion," she said.

"I dreamed I had a wife who loved me," Tyrion said simply. Those words broke her. _Too soon_, she thought. But Tyrion had obviously decided to skip the morning niceties and go straight to what it meant.

"It was a lovely dream," she answered, distancing herself.

"Marry me."

Tyrion's words shocked her. Sansa thought she had made her feelings clear.

"Tyrion… we can't…"

"Yes, we can. We can, Sansa. We can make last night real, we can make it last forever." He was begging her, while she recoiled and sat on the side of her bed facing away from him, pulling a fur over her shoulders.

"Tyrion, stop. I can't. Last night was unforgettable; a way for us to stop wondering about what it could be like between us, but it's done. I have a duty and so do you. And… I must give proper considerations to other potential alliances that would benefit Winterfell and the North."

Sansa could feel his eyes staring at the back of her head, could feel his heart breaking.

"You mean a political marriage?"

She nodded.

"And why can't I be that political marriage?" His tone was biting but she could tell he was covering his hurt.

_Because I will never bend the knee to your queen; I will use you, conspiring against her with any other lords who are bristling at Targaryen rule, and plot worse if it came to it_. Sansa nearly spoke aloud her thoughts but managed to contain them. As much as she trusted him, he would put himself at risk to stop her, betray her if he had to if it kept her alive. She wouldn't put him in that position if she could help it. Sansa began to wonder if keeping him out of her plan would in fact be better than making him unwittingly part of it. _But how?_ She would have to think on this later.

Kindness overtook her features but her back was still to him.

"You know why. My loyalty to the North outweighs everything. Any husband I take must share this loyalty."

When he didn't answer, Sansa knew it was time to voice her other belief about his feelings.

Quietly, she said, "Any husband I take must also not love Daenerys Targaryen."

"I don't…"

"Tyrion, please don't lie. It'll take away everything good about this night. I've seen it in your eyes when you look at her and speak about her. You may feel more for me than you do for her but those feelings are there all the same."

She turned her head to look at him. The sun had finally risen and she could see the disappointment and shame on Tyrion's face. But when he saw the acceptance on her face, he relaxed, and she knew he'd realized she wasn't chiding him. And she wasn't. She had no rights to him. Sansa breathed in deeply. It was time to say goodbye; to go back to her icy façade and projection of inner strength. Again she longed to be able to let go of her need for control and leave it to others. Tyrion had showed her what it could be like. One night of safety and security. But she'd learned those things don't last, not for her. Sansa hadn't realized she'd been staring without focus until she noticed Tyrion turn to get out of the bed. Before she could stop herself, she called to him.

"Tyrion…"

Sansa threw off the fur and threw herself at him for one more embrace. She felt a wish she'd been harboring deep within herself fight to break free. _When it's all done, ask me again_. She swallowed it down. Giving him false hope was cruel and selfish. She dared not speak and began sobbing against him. His arms went tight around her and she felt his tears fall to her shoulder.

Tyrion pulled back and placed his forehead against hers, her sobs subsiding, allowing his breath on her face to calm her. She wiped his tears with her fingers. Silently, he threw back the furs and got out of her bed and dressed quickly. Sansa followed him, put on her robe, and walked over to him.

"Are you still my friend, Tyrion?" she asked shyly.

She reached out her hand. Tyrion took it and clasped her palm to his lips. Like in the crypts, the kiss was full of tender goodbyes and might-have-been's.

"Always, my lady," he answered.

His eyes were full of meaning, pleading with her to change her mind, and she could only shake her head gently. Finally seeming to accept her answer, he dropped her hand. Tyrion went quickly to the door and walked out without another backward glance. Sansa closed the door and stared at it, not looking forward to the day when his eyes would no longer be full of love and hope for her. As much as she wanted to deserve those things, deep down she knew Tyrion could do better. He deserved complete devotion and she couldn't give that. Not now, not when the North was at risk. And winning the North wasn't going to happen with passive challenges and disdainful looks directed at his queen.

Walking back towards the bed, Sansa brought her fingers to touch the pillow Tyrion had laid on. Resisting the urge to bring it to her face to inhale his scent she turned away and went to her wardrobe to select today's armor. As Tyrion had said yesterday, she will have missed her chance to decide how events unfold if she didn't take action now. The first step was buying time and she had a good idea on how to get it.

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**A/N: Thank you so much for the kind reviews. I made an effort to write a Sansa that was more confident about her physical needs than I've seen in other stories with Tyrion but still with enough doubts about whether he's the right path. I thought out several possibilities after this chapter but the one I liked best is very different than my original intention so I will make that a separate fic and leave this one a two-shot for the foreseeable future, on the slim chance I do decide to explore more Sansa/Tyrion-centric happenings.**


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